


Canticle of Hope

by cowboy_boop



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 02:12:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboy_boop/pseuds/cowboy_boop
Summary: An alternate turn of events for Inquisition.





	Canticle of Hope

_In the Absence of light, shadows Thrive. - Canticle of Threnodies 8:12_

“Harding? Scout.” 

Charter’s voice still hung in the back of her head. A half forgotten echo. She couldn’t even remember the elven woman’s voice anymore, not clearly. But she could remember how she said those two words. Clear as day. She lined up the new recruits, announced their jobs - sparing only a quick glance to each one to make sure she got the right person. At the time the Inquisition wasn’t very picky with who signed up. Any hand was a good hand. 

With the wars - plural - and the incident (as most referred to the conclave) - the population of Ferelden had become thinner and thinner. Less willing to sign up for yet another debacle. People bounced back from the blight, but that was a slow front. The blight itself was only a decade done. Plus those that did survive, found homes elsewhere. 

Redcliffe wasn’t on the list of most popular places to live. Not after the chaos with Arl Eamon, and the nightly march of the undead. Even her parents settled a little more south of the village. Just a little further from the ominous tower, and lake calenhad. It was … warranted. Considering the circle was nearly wiped out from the actions of abominations. 

Lace grew up with tales of mage boogeyman tales, just like every other Ferelden child. And like most Fereldens, she had never met one. Until now. And now she’s met many. Most usually with staves pointed in her direction casting magic. While frightening, they were no match for a quick bow. Least most of the time. 

It had been late when who she thought was new recruits arrived. A stern woman, of about thirty four. Hawk like eyes, and short feather like hair. Imposing. Lace assumed she was the leader in this entourage. A dwarf, with rather liberal views as what counted for a shirt, and two elves. One that was smoother than a rock underwater, and another … another looked Dalish. By the markings. Curiosity got the best of her on the first night, and she crept up to the group as they talked. While they exchanged banter, she dropped eaves, under the guise of sharpening her knives. 

“The red lyrium at the temple seemed to upset you.” One of the elves brought up. 

“My brother, and I sort of discovered red lyrium during an expedition in the deep roads.” The dwarf admitted. “We located an ancient thaig, so old that it barely looked dwarven There was an idol there made of it. Bartrand brought it back to the surface, and well, everything went downhill from there.” 

Lace leaned in a little closer. Until recently she lived a quiet life in the village, conversations like these were nothing more than stories. Not anecdotes, or exchanges actual people had. Most of the time they were discussing livestock. Or maybe at most some local lord. The temple … were they at the Temple of Sacred Ashes? That meant that they were from Haven! Of course! By the symbol on the breastplate of the woman she had to be a seeker! Lace admonished herself for not noticing sooner. 

“Is it then another source of lyrium?” The elf asked eyes alight with curiosity. He leaned in closer to the fire, expression guarded as he clenched his fist at the thought. 

“The red stuff is lyrium like a dragon is a lizard.” The dwarf corrected. “It’s not just a different color. It has a whole host of weirdness all its own. I’ve written to every Mining Caste House in Orzammar. No one’s seen this stuff before or knows where it comes from.” 

“Perhaps it’s tied to the thaig. Some kind of freak accident.” The elf deposited “Corrupt lyrium.” 

The unbearded dwarf laughed. “Maybe Frosty. Maybe. But only living things can become corrupt.” 

Cute nickname. 

The elf scratched the back of his head, ruffling his loosely tied black hair. This was a question he didn’t know how to solve. 

“Get rest. We have a long day ahead tomorrow.” The seeker instructed. She got up, and moved for the tents that the others had set up for them. The bald elf soon followed after. The last remaining two stayed defiant for a while longer. Discussing the dwarf’s crossbow, all while the man praised, and caressed it. All in good humor. She hoped. It wasn’t long however before Varric as she had learned, left - carting his precious Bianca with him. 

“So … Frosty?” She asked with a chuckle. The elf’s ears perked up at the sound - if that was possible. 

“Varric thinks he’s good with nicknames. I’m lucky I’m not Chuckles, or Dalish.” He explained. “My real name’s Lavellan. Fenarel Lavellan. If you’re curious.” He moved over to make room for her on the makeshift bench. _Pretty nice for a Dalish elf_ , Lace thought as she sat down near him. “I’m Harding.” She said cautiously. He was interesting. Elves always had interesting eyes, with those large cat like pupils. There was something captivating about them. She couldn’t tell what. His irises were bright green. Like the rifts. 

“Nice to meet you Harding. When did you joined the inquisition?” 

“A couple weeks ago.” She stated. “Officer Charter came to the area to look for recruits. Me, Ritts, and Tessa signed on. She lived not too far from us.” She was blabbering. It felt like she was showing off somehow. Or oversharing. Both were bad. 

“What about you? You four are from Haven, you must have seen the action up close.” She leaned in a bit. 

Fenarel looked lost at how to answer that. “Yeah. Close.” He confirmed. Lace moved a little closer. “So if it’s not too much, can you tell me anything about what happened? We get everything third hand here. Did … did the Herald of Andraste really walk out of the Fade? And did he really ride out on the Maker’s chariot?” 

Fenarel sniffed at that. As if it were some sort of insult. “No chariot.” The elf tugged at the thick ram hyde glove on his hand. “Do you think he’s the Herald?” He asked stiffly.

Lace looked away at such a question. She must have sounded like a chantry sister. “I don’t know. It’s what everyone says. And anyone who does something like that well, they need a title.” She joked, showing her teeth as she smiled. 

“You know you’re the first Dalish that I’ve met up close. "Are you from the Hinterlands?” 

“Free Marches.” Lavellan corrected. “We were near Kirkwall for a time.” He offered. 

“Oh.” Came the reply, and Lace felt awkward for asking. “It’s hard to escape trouble these days I guess. No matter how far you go. Is your Clan here too now?” 

“No. Just me.” He answered, those large bright eyes focused on the ground. “Keeper Deshanna sent me to Haven to bring back news of the Conclave.” 

“Like a spy?” Lace offered. 

“Ye- No!” Lavellan shook his head, and stared at the dwarf incredulously. “Not like a spy. Messenger!” He defended, but it was clear from the look on his face that she hit the nail on the head. “The talks were going for the worse, and honestly if the talks succeeded, most mages would find themselves in even a tighter spot than before.” He was frustrated, and he dug his toes into the dirt. What was it with elves resisting footwear? What if there was a snake? Or a branch? Or a really sharp rock?

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve met to really care about the mages in all this.” She offered. Lots of first. First Dalish, first mage sympathizer. Hold on. Her eyes caught sight of the long staff on the ground. At first she thought it was kindling, but now she was having second thoughts. Loud second thoughts. 

Apostate. Was the first one. 

Dwarves had the benefit of being resistant to magic, but the camp wasn’t. She calmed herself with the reality that they were on the same side. Not only that, he was here to help. 

“I heard that the Dalish had their own mages. They’re different from the ones in Circles. Templars talked of how they used the elements. Lightning, fire, cold ... “ 

_Frosty._ Now it made more sense. 

Lavellan looked like he was swallowing a toad the entire time she talked. Wanting to say something, but admitting to what he was might create some sort of rift between them. She didn’t blame his caution. Even circle mages were tight lipped about their abilities. Or so she heard. 

“They do…” He confirmed. Avoiding to say the obvious. 

“I’m guessing you prefer cold spells.” She decided to pop that bubble herself if he wasn’t going to. 

“They’re easiest in the cold.” Lavellan admitted, and looked woefully uncomfortable. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“There are mages with the Inquisition. Not many, but you’re not the first mage I met.” She said proudly, with a joker’s posture. 

“I’m not?” The laughed. 

“No. You’re the second.” She chuckled. “So don’t get a big head or anything.” A Dalish elf that wasn’t haughty, and proud. Guess that meant Wittle owed her five bits. 

“I was first to my keeper. It was either me or Ellana. I was more insistent. I had wanted to get out of the Free Marches for a long while now. See the world on my own. Keeper Deshanna agreed to let me go instead. Ellana hates me for it I think. But the clan needs her more. She’s the best hunter, she could hit game a thousand paces away.” He boasted on the other elf’s behalf. It sounded almost like he more than admired her. 

Sharp barking sounded, and the elf’s head whirled around to catch the source. 

“That’s just the Mabari.” She reassured. “We’ve got a couple in camp.” 

“You have Mabari?” Lavellan stared at her as if she was insane. 

“Not me personally, least not yet. I always wanted one of my own. We had one on our farm, but she imprinted on dad and she went with him when he left to trade.” She offered. “They’re really not as bad as you think.” 

The elf’s expression was easy to decipher. You’ve got to be shitting me. 

“Come on.” She got up, dusting off her trousers, and waved for him to follow. She walked around to the cages the dragged up the hill, and pointed. “That’s Growler, Root, and Spot.” The Mabari were large, muscular, and not at all friendly looking.

“Fereldens really do love their dogs.” Lavellan intoned warily as he observed the dogs.

“Hey!” Lace shoved him lightly playfully. “There’s nothing more loyal than a Mabari, and they’re willing to put their lives on the line for those they bond with. They’re heroes of the Blight just as much as the Wardens.”

“If you say so.” Lavellan eyed the dogs suspiciously, clearly not trusting them in the slightest. 

“Oh come on…” She teased. “You aren’t scared of these fluffballs are you Frosty?” She adopted the nickname used, grinning at the elf’s hesitancy. Lavellan sniffed. 

“Those fluffballs have very sharp teeth.” 

“I’m guessing the Dalish don’t keep Mabari.” She sighed, and looked around the camp. “Wanna join us for a game of Deadman’s Tricks? We’re playing mainly for dignity.” She thumbed behind her near the edge of the hill that they were situated at. There were three soldiers sitting around a few boxes that served as a table, and chairs. Candles lit so they could see the cards. 

“I’m not sure -” The elf started, but stopped when he caught her expression. It was so open, and honest that he changed his mind. “Sure. What are the rules?” 

. . .

They stayed up late, or rather, she and the elf - stayed up late. They ended up talking a lot longer than expected. After a couple of drinks in, his posture loosened, and he began to talk about his clan, about the forests of the Free Marches. Stories that the hunters brought back, usually ones where they messed around with humans. As it turned out, the Lavellan clan was more welcoming than most. Doing trade, and helping those that were lost at times. Not like the stories that circulated that Dalish hunters hunted, killed, and dragged humans back to camp to eat. Stealing babes, and robbing those they found. 

Lace was disheartened to think that after today she probably wouldn’t see him again. They looked like agents or something. Never staying in one place too long. 

When morning came, she was in for a rather rude surprise. 

“Harding?” Tessa asked. “Harding are you alright?” 

“I’m … can you repeat that?” 

“Seeker Pentaghast, and the Herald of Andraste arrived in camp last night, did you see them come in?” 

“H-herald of Andraste?” The hair on the back of her neck stood up a bit, but her face didn’t show her shock. 

“Dalish elf. Mage. Looks like one of those painted mabari.” 

“We’ve … met.” Lace finished the thought. “He’s the Herald?” 

“That’s the Chantry’s reaction too. Blasphemous ain’t it? Not only an elf, but also Dalish. They don’t even believe in the maker. They should have arrived last night.” Tessa sighed, and looked around. That’s when she stopped, and put her arm over her chest in salute. “Sir.”

Lace spun around to catch sight of the Herald. His hair in every direction, armor lazily fastened, and eyes a little bloodshot from drinking half the night. The seeker, and the other two looked well rested at least. “Go on.” Tessa instructed quietly to her, and she went along to look for what to hand off to them for requisitions. 

“Inquisition Scout Harding at your service.” She managed. Pentaghast nodded in acknowledgement. Right. 

“I-all of us here- we’ll do whatever we can to help.” She stumbled over her words. 

“Harding huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” Varric chuckled at the introduction. 

Caught off guard she looked to him. “I can’t say I have, why?” 

“You’d be Harding in … oh never mind.” He sighed. 

Cassandra produced a noise of disgust. Was it an innuendo or something? A bad joke? A reference? Lace was lost. She looked to the Herald with a kind of inquisitive look - perhaps he’d offer some sort of light on the matter. It was … strange looking at the can’t-hold-my-liquor elf and knowing that this was the Herald of Andraste. The one who wandered out of the Fade. The one who might have seen the maker. 

“What’s the situation out here?” 

All business. Right. Best to move on. 

“We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster. People always said that Dennet’s herds are the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker knows if he’s even still alive. Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads helping the refugees, and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long.You best get going, no time to lose.”

She couldn’t look at him. She looked to the side, and shuffled away. By the Maker that was awkward. Did anyone else know? Did anyone else see? 

“Scout Harding?” 

_Don’t look. Don’t look. Andraste’s pants you must look foolish._

“Scout Harding?” This time softer. 

Compelled, she turned around to face him. “Yes Herald?” 

“How long will you be here for?” 

Confused at the question, Lace stuttered out a reply. “I-I’m not sure. Long as we’re needed. We’ll be leaving to scout out west. If we can get past the rifts which spew out demons.” 

“Good grief.” Came the disbelieving groan from Varric. 

“Can we get our feet moving? The more we squander time chatting, the more likely the Crossroads might not be there when we arrive.” Cassandra deadpanned, there was an undeniable twitch in her voice that betrayed that deep down she was displeased. Lace shivered at the tone. 

“Spoilsport.” Varric huffed under his breath. “But she has a point Lavellan.” 

The elf nodded, waved a half salute and followed after his party. 

. . .

It was around midday. They had taken an hour to rest, eat and refill on provisions. A certain auburn haired scout was using a stick to scribble out a map. To get a better understanding of the area. She got a little side tracked. She ended up noticing how similar the lines were becoming to a certain someone’s tattoos. 

“What are you drawing?” 

“The area.” She said defensively. 

“There’s no river here Lace.” Ritts pointed out. 

“I know Ritts. I was just doodling.” Lace rolled his shoulders. 

“I should head to Winterwatch tower. Get a look at what’s going on.” Ritts said with a squirrely look about her. Lace narrowed her eyes. “Ritts?”

The other scout feigned innocence. “Yes?” 

“What are you up to?” She wasn’t really suspicious of Ritts, she’d never hurt anyone. She was smooth talker, and rather kindhearted. Naively so sometimes.

“Up to? Me?” Ritts scoffed. “I’m scouting. Something you should be doing.” She fixed her hood, and adjusted her gloves. “See ya Lacy!” She didn’t wait as she headed out. 

“She’s up to something.” Harding muttered. At this Tessa looked up from the requisition table where she was fiddling with some of parts that were crafted. She was working on locks of some sort. She left it up to her. Tessa might have been one of the most resourceful people she had ever met. Bring her some ore, and she could create miracles. 

“When is Ritts not up to something?” She asked, exasperated as she rubbed her back. “You know she has a sweetheart right? She’s been sending out letters by raven.” 

“Do you know who this sweetheart is?” Harding squinted. 

“Nope.” Tessa shook her head, and looked around the small enclosure. 

“But the fact that she won’t tell us is fishy. Right ?” Lace asked, hoping that she wasn’t the paranoid one of the group. 

“You can’t be her mother Lace.” Tessa groaned. “Let her do whatever. She can talk herself out of anything. And she’s not a bad shot.” 

She was not overprotective. She was just the right amount protective. Ritts just always got herself in over her head, ass deep in trouble. There was a long track record of Ritts choosing to do the wrong thing because of her stellar instinct, or hot pants. Both her and Tessa found her with the village healer, when she should have been watching the herd of Druffalo that she was tasked with. It didn’t take a genius to know what happened. 

“Heads up!” Called a voice from the top of the ruined tower. 

Harding stood up, and looked around. A raven circled the camp, and landed on the tent. Inspecting them with its shrewd ruby eyes. Leliana. Lace approached the bird, arm outstretched, it took the hint, and in a flutter of wings landed on her forearm. The dwarf untied the message attached to its leg, and read it through. 

_There are sightings of Wardens in the Hinterlands. Keep your eyes open._

Wardens? The Hero of Ferelden? She dare not hope. There were very very many wardens. But it would make sense. Perhaps there was more to her fascination, seeing as the Hero of Ferelden was a dwarf. Granted he wasn’t a surfacer, but he was a duster. And really how far were the two to the denizens of Orzammar? Maybe it was arrogant, but she wanted to meet him. Or see him. Get an autograph, send it to her father. The man was obsessed with him. He claimed that he had one of his arrows - one did not question the validity of such claims. 

Hours went by, and Ritts was nowhere to be seen. Lace sent word to the other scouts to keep an eye out. She had started to gather her equipment to head out herself, when a familiar party walked into camp. The seeker, Varric, and the two elf apostates. 

“Herald.” She addressed formally. Fen. She couldn’t call to him so … casually. Smiling almost boyishly, he gestured to her quiver, and bow. 

“Are you heading out Scout Harding?” 

“Yes your worship.” She answered dutifully. “A scout has gone missing. I’m going out to find her.” 

In the background Cassandra had started to get help removing her armor from an unfortunate squire who had nearly gagged at something on the breastplate. “Is that …”  
“Bits of renegade mages.” Fenarel said glibly. Just a piece of a human scalp, as if it were nothing to fuss over. “Freezing spells tend to make the body brittle, and Cassandra charged one.” He offered as an explanation at how a body managed to end up in multiple pieces. 

“R-right.” Lace said with half horror, and fascination. “I should go … every minute is precious.” 

Fenarel hesitated. “Do you want me to go with you?” 

Harding didn’t miss a moment’s beat. “Isn’t Seeker Cassandra sort of your keeper?” At that Fenarel scoffed, and pretended that wasn’t the case. “She isn’t my wet nurse. I can help plenty on my own.”

“No!” Came the insistent call from the Requisition officer Tessa - who was also starting pick up her longsword. “We’re going to look for her. She’s our responsibility.”

“We are all part of this mess, and I’m sure that you’ll need some help.” Lavellan insisted. 

Tessa looked to Lace with consideration. Her eyes said plenty _He is a mage._

“If you think it’s worthy of your time, your worship.” Lace said eventually. 

Lavellan picked up his staff, and waited for the two to lead where she set out. “Did she say where she was going?” It was obvious that the previous fights had taken their toll on him, and even still he was willing to help others. Lace didn’t know if she should be impressed, or think twice of accepting his help. The elf might have a death wish. 

“She was supposed to scout south. Winterwatch tower. We’ve been hearing from locals that many people have left households to join a cult there.” 

“A cult?” The surprise in his voice revealed that he heard of it already. “There was a man in the village that we met, he said his son had joined one.” 

“Might be the one.” Lace hummed. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if there were several starting. This one seems to believe that the rifts are made by the maker, that he has finally turned his gaze back on us.” 

“It’s certainly a fanciful notion.” The elf said with a deadpan that rivaled the seekers. Perhaps all this talk about Andraste, and the Maker had started to grate on his nerves. The Dalish didn’t worship the Maker, nor did they sing the chant. 

“It certainly is.” Lace confirmed. Her legs moved faster than theirs, and she was quickly ahead of them. “Shh.” She shushed, and moved quickly to the bent over tree. She might have looked stocky, and therefore sluggish, but Fenarel marvelled at how she climbed it. She might have lacked the grace that most Dalish had, not making use of momentum as the elves did. What she did was just pure strength. His eyes focused into the distance, detecting movement. 

“Renegades.” He whispered to Tessa. The human turned to him with a certain shock. “Are you a seer?” 

“No.” Fenarel said with confusion. “Mages tend to move quietly. These make noise when they walk. Plus there’s horses. Templars.” 

“Crap.” Tessa exhaled. She looked up to Lace and waited for the count. The dwarf looked down at them, and gestured four fingers to them. Four. They outnumbered them by one. Plus it was templars, so a mage might be useless, seeing as how they can suppress magic. 

“We have to ambush them.” Fenarel whispered. “I’ll freeze them, and you two shatter.” Lace climbed down, and readied her bow. 

“Ice, shatter. Got it.” 

Fenarel moved first, dashing forward, he stuck his staff into the ground, gathering air and magic around it. Like a creeping sickness, the cold wrapped around the templars and froze them into place. Lace didn’t stand there agog, and fired one arrow after another. Tessa charged on, and knocked over on ot the ‘templarickles’. It seemed to have not worked as good as she thought it would. The block of human flesh and ice didn’t seem to be affected. So this is what happened when village peasants tried to fill the shoes of a seeker. 

Tessa flushed red - they made such fools of themselves. 

“They’re out of the picture.” The elf reassured. “We need to keep moving in face they’re the only one…” He trailed off as his eyes glued to a sparkle in the grass. Sliding the staff into the holster on his back, he moved quickly to the shine. Bending down, he plucked up the item and inspected it. It was an old Dalish promise ring. “I met a woman on the way to camp who encountered templars. They killed her husband, and took his ring.” 

“So Templars started pillaging?” Tessa asked with concern. “How did she escape?” 

“I don’t think she did.” They just had other means for her. When they came across her hut, she grabbed the first thing she could find for self defence. The look in her eyes looked as if she was a cornered animal, ready to strike anyone. She calmed down when she saw him, city elves tended to raise the Dalish to myth status, the wild Dalish, the ones who remember the old ways. There was nothing worthy of idolization in his mind. They travelled through the woods, and had to shit like everyone else. However he was well aware that few Dalish saw it in the same light. Many were quite proud of their sacrifice to the old ways.

Lace didn’t question it, she had known what this war brought. And the devastation that it caused. “We’ll bring it back to her when we head back.” It was clear that the meeting hit him hard. She reached out and put a hand on his back. 

Lavellan gave an agreeing nod, and they continued on, following the slope of the hill. Shouting became audible, Take that! “Ritts!” Lace gasped, and hurried ahead of them. Not two steps forward, she felt two arms around her, and the scenery shifted around her at a rapid pace. They were at the top of the hill, not too far off from where the sound came from. Her eyes scanned the horizon and pointed. “Over there!” 

Fenarel used another burst of magic to fade step to the Templars. Releasing Harding, he grabbed his staff, and used the blade at the end to aim for the sliver of space between the helm, and the armor. The metal dug into the Templar’s throat, ripping it open. Lace went for a much more direct approach, she took her bow in hand, from her quiver she pulled out two arrows, and shot them in quick succession at the Templar’s legs. Pinning him to the ground. Lavellan landed the killing blow with the staff. 

Perhaps the efficiency of the mage should have frightened her. On an instinctual level. The way he fought was brutal, and nothing like the circle mages who tried to keep their robes clean. It should have made the hair on her neck stand on end. But there were more important things to worry about. The Templars were dead, or soon to be - and there was Ritts breathing hard. 

“Ritts! We expected you back ages ago. Doesn’t look like you’re on your patrol.” 

Ritts stuttered. “S-sure I am. Look. There’s … Winterwatch.” 

“And who’s that?” Lavellan pointed to a woman dead on the ground, red with spilled wine, and an overturned basket not too far away. 

“An … An … An apostate, you know the hills are crawling with them. Was probably looking for blood magic … or something. Templars came around, to apprehend the … ”

Lace’s disbelieving look was breathtaking. “Uh-huh. Seems like you arrived just in time Ritts. Like always.” Fen caught onto the dwarf’s tone, and eyed the other elf with suspicion. 

“Alright! I might have been passing time with Eldreda. But she wasn’t like the other apostates! She wasn’t crazy, or hopped up on lyrium, she just wanted to be free!” Ritts insisted. “Just-just -are you gonna report me to Charter? Please, she’s gonna k-i-l-l me.” 

“No one’s killing anyone.” Fenarel sighed. “Look, get back to camp. We’ll discuss this privately. If anyone asks - you met a dead end.” Ritts shook in place, and nodded. “Alright.”  
Head hung low, Ritts headed back in the direction of where she came from. “You took it easy on her.” Lace observed. 

“I’m not even a leader or anything. I’m got suked into this. I don’t have a title.” 

“You’re the-” Harding started to say it - but stopped herself. “It makes you uncomfortable.” 

“Exceedingly so.” Lavellan admitted. “I’m not the Herald of anything or anyone.” He stated firmly. “I just … want things to be back to normal.” He admitted. “They way they’re supposed to be.” Lace blinked and rubbed her arm. She needed to get his mind off things. “Thanks Lavellan.” She said kindly. “We wouldn’t have been able to save Ritts in time if it wasn’t for that … thing you did. What is it? I could barely see where we were going.” 

“It’s a fade step.” The elf smiled. “You want to … try it again?” 

“I prefer to keep my breakfast.” She teased, and nodded to the keep ahead. “But … Ritts was right. That’s Winterwatch. That’s the location that we traced the cult to.” Lace put away her bow, and began heading up the path to the keep. 

“So … why is this thing standing here?” Lavellan asked, trying to take in the fortification that was starting to fall to disrepair. One of the towers was in pieces. 

“Well the story is that Arl Tiranon Guerrin had it built for his son. At the time, this land was being invaded by Orlais. This was meant to serve as a defensive position. They built tunnels into the mountains, and below. They’re not the deep roads or anything, but they are supposed to connect with the Cross Roads. Somewhere.” She pondered. “No one actually knows where the entrance is. We think it was maybe sealed by magic.” 

“For that to last … “ Lavellan thought of the power that was needed. “So I take it they won?” 

“They survived.” Lace allowed. “I’m not sure that’s winning. The Orlesians starved out the keep, and Guerrin’s son surrendered. Course his father disowned him soon after, and the Orlesians had him executed.” 

They drew closer and closer to the entrance, and Tessa finally caught up with them. Out of breath from scaling the steep hill. “I saw Ritts on the way up - she looked like she shit the bed again.” 

“I’ll explain later.” Harding reassured with a hint of amusement. Now that their trusted trio was alive, she was no longer as on edge. 

“So this is Winterwatch. My grand-dad told me legends about this place. He said that it was full of ghosts. How Loran Guerrin still looks for his head.” 

“Your grandfather really did love scary stories didn’t he Tess?” Lace smirked. “You go first.” She pointed to speak to the woman who was near the porticulous. 

Tessa nodded, stopped. “Why me?” In aghast she asked her friend. 

“You’re the one with the sword.” 

“He’s got a staff.” Tessa argued pointing to the Herald. 

“Are you chicken Tessa?” Lace goaded, with a grin. 

“You’re a - a-” The woman protested, hiccuping as she did so. 

“I’ll go.” Fenarel shook his head, clearly entertained at the exchange of the two. He extended his hand in friendly greeting. “Greetings.”

The woman was visibly on edge. The look of suspicion and alertness was hard to miss. It was the same one he had gotten everywhere he went. The Dalish were never welcome, the stereotype was that they were just “uncivilized” elves. Rogues, bandits, hunting human for sport. Lace took issue, and walked with him. 

“We’re with the inquisition. We’ve heard from Redcliffe that there were people making fortifications here.” 

A woman, blonde, and weathered a great deal from stress nodded. “We are here to give our devotion to the maker. Is this the inquisition that supports that Herald of Andraste? “ 

“I’m the one they speak of..” Fenarel said sadly. “But I’m not a Herald. Nor was I chosen by the maker.” 

“Then it is as I thought. Bold faced lies. You can’t seal the rifts, they are the work of the Maker, and man cannot undo-”

“I can seal rifts.” The elf corrected. 

“Then prove it.” She challenged haughtily. “There is one that pulses when one of our mages is near - clearly the Maker’s distaste for those of magical scorn.” 

Fenarel’s face became still of thought. Lace examined it from her vantage with curiosity. It was eerie how he seemed to be able to disconnect from his emotions. The porticulous started to rise, making noises of protests as it done so. Creaking, and groaning. 

“That’s a hundred years of history in those noises.” Lace imitated Tessa’s eager attitude. This earned a chuckle from the elf. Tessa hurried in after them as she looked around. 

“Maker’s BALLS.” She exclaimed, looking around Winterwatch Tower. “It’s so intact inside.” She compelled for Lace to look around. It was huge. “We should look for the tunnels now that we’re inside. After we deal with everything.” 

Fenarel had grown quiet, those large green eyes focused ahead. That’s when Lace saw one of the rifts face to face. Usually they hung high in the sky, and rarely if not stagnant. “You know you don’t have to prove anything, we should get Seeker Cas-” 

“No.” Lavellan insisted. “I can take care of this myself.” 

“Your worship, but that’s not something we can allow. I know we aren’t much in comparison - but we’ll be at your side. Through thick and thin. That is why we volunteered.” 

If for a moment he glanced to Tessa he’d know that was a blasphemous lie. Tessa looked stunned, and frightened. Rethinking their last attempt at joined combat was not a very successful one. They won from luck, or perhaps just adrenaline. Lace knew that they could do this. They had to. Or they’d have Seeker Cassandra, and Leliana to answer to. Truth be told she didn’t know which one was worse. 

“Let’s do this then.” Fenarel gripped his staff harder, and bolted forward. The rift began to pulsate and the light shone brighter. It broke into ribbon like structures, with light pooling near the floor, and walls. The sounds were horrifying. Screeching, such inhuman screams of pain. 

“Terrors.” He whispered. “Don’t stay in one place. The veil is thin here, they can move through it.” He lifted his staff, and moved it in an upward motion, then dropped it. The ribbon broke. Whatever he was doing, it was strengthening the veil, removing the influence of the rift. Lace’s eyes caught sight of the movement, and she aimed her bow at the center of what she thought was the head. No chance, when this thing emerged, it emerged. It’s long limbs, and body no longer confined, it screeched, declaring that this was its domain. What else even lived in the fade? What other sort of nightmares? 

Perhaps it’s for the best dwarves didn’t dream. Perhaps there was some sort of comfort in returning to the stone as many claimed. 

“Down!” Fenarel commanded as one of the terrors leaped at Tessa. She lowered her blade, and angled it just so to catch the Terror’s throat. Her quick response was effective. She dragged the blade and beheaded the creature. There was the terror, standing, headless, motionless. 

Herald Lavellan didn’t seem to know quite what to do, or how to react. The terror didn’t seem to be dead, but it certainly wasn’t moving. He launched fire at it, and it burned away with the air. Distracted by the other, the terror charged Harding. Cornering her against the stone wall. As panic gripped her, she was afraid her arrows would slip from her fingers. But out of some Maker granted mercy they didn’t. She fired one, after the other from the quiver on her hip. The terror backed away, falling to the floor. 

“Scout Harding!” Came the sound of Lavellan’s voice. 

The terror sunk to the floor, and began to come undone. The Herald lifted his palm to the rift, and began to stitch the veil closed. She never thought about it … but she should tell her mother about her revelation. She’d enjoy it. Plus seeing the Herald in action? Worth it. 

“Are you alright?” He called to her as he finished, and knelt down to inspect any damage. 

“I’m fine! Really.” She reassured. “That was something though. I haven’t seen Terrors before. We usually just see the wisps. I’ve seen a Rage demon once. But far away.” She said playfully. Trying to shrug it off. 

“Scout - “

“I’m good. Really. That’s not enough to keep me down. Tess might need some help. She took this position to avoid fighting. She’s a tinkerer. You give her anything, and she can come up with a gadget.” She said fondly. Tessa who was starting to recover stood up. Her knees shaking. “That was … insane. Andraste’s TITS I thought we would die!” She exclaimed. 

“It’s not that bad. We had the Herald with us. Speaking of, you wanna give that chantry sister the news?” 

“I suppose we should, shouldn’t we?” He got up, and dusted his trousers off. Slowly he climbed up the stairs to find a gathered crowd, gaping at what he had done. The woman they spoke to, walked towards the front. “We were fools to have doubted you. You are the Herald, we are ready to serve your worship!” She spoke clearly, and it earned a ring of joy throughout the onlookers. 

“It might be a good idea to get them to take in refugees - they’re in a fortified area, and this war is still not over. We can recruit them later.” Lace whispered, and the elf nodded in agreement. 

“You are to take in refugees that are sent here, care for them, and defend the area from attack.” Fenarel stated. The speaker nodded, and she began to guide the rest. 

“Before we go … I’d like to ask you something. There should be a boy here, a mage I believe, he came here from the crossroads. His father is looking for him.” 

“I know the boy you speak of. Hyndel. He’s in the tower. He works to make tonics, and herbs for us.” 

“Thank you.” Fenarel walked slowly along in the direction of the tower. 

“What do you need to speak to an apostate for ser?” Tessa asked, curiosity in her voice. 

“His mother is sick, and he abandoned his family to come join this … cult.” Fenarel said with some bite. Lace felt a pang of guilt in her gut. The situations weren’t the same, but it was obvious her mother would benefit with her there. That running the farm without her must have been harder. Even if she justified it to herself that she was serving a noble goal, she had responsibilities at home. This Hydel must have told himself the same. 

After a series of ladders, and crumbling stone, they arrived at the top of the tower. The smell of vapors, and smoke filled the partially closed space. There was ample ventilation, but that did not prevent the sulphuric smell that permeated through the tower. Dried herbs, and animal innards hung from makeshift wooden rafters. 

“Are you in need of something?” Came the gentle voice from behind a pillar. There was a curved mask covering his face, which he removed slowly. 

“What’s with the face gear?” Tessa pointed. 

The blonde elf looked long and hard at the apparatus, then the woman. “I was dealing with a substance that if breathed in directly can damage lungs. It’s not for consumption. Speaker Anais thought it would be good to develop something in case the Templars came back.” 

There was a pregnant pause, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I help you all?” 

“Are you Hyndel?” Fenarel asked, approaching him. 

The boy caught sight of the man’s features and warmed a little. “Are you Dalish?” A fascination in his voice. “Father told me a lot about you. A clan took in mother after she had to run from the Alienage in Denerim.”

“That’s partly why we’re here.” Lavellan said carefully. “Your father asked us to get you. Your mother’s ill. She’s having trouble breathing.” 

“Mother? She shouldn’t … she hadn’t had that problem in years!” He rushed to the table, and began pouring something out of a beaker, into a container, and sealed it with a lid. Urgently he extended it to Fen. “Please, get this to him, the process I’ll send to him by raven soon.” 

“Shouldn’t you go back to your family?” Lace asked, watching the boy fumble with his hands. 

“I c-can’t. There’s a lot of people who depend on me. Maybe … once mother is in better condition they can come here? It’s safer. And we have more stores of food.” 

It did seem to be a better choice. To move the refugees stranded on the crossroads here. Perhaps the rest who could not, and willing to volunteer be taken to Haven when they headed back. Fen mulled over the possibility, and nodded. “I’ll tell your father.” He placed the container into the bag attached to his hip. 

“Let’s go.” The voice was not that of a victorious man. Lace was curious as to why he sounded more defeated than anything else. They sealed a rift, found the missing mage, secured the loyalty of the cult that was spreading malicious lies. Trudging back to camp, they were met with a scout running in their direction. 

“Your worship! Seeker Cassandra was looking for you!” 

Fenarel raised a hand to show that he got the message. Noticing the dull look in his eyes, Lace approached him, and put a hand on his back. An understanding one. Sealing the rift, and the templars - no doubt everything was starting to build. She didn’t want him to think he was alone in all of this. A smile tugged on the elf’s lips. 

“After Cassandra is done reprimanding me, what do you say to a game of Diamondback?” 

“It would be my pleasure.” She said playfully, and bumped her shoulder against him. They parted ways, where the “herald” was brought to heel by the Seeker. It was clear to see just who was of higher rank. She didn’t understand why Seeker Cassandra distrusted Lavellan. Perhaps it was inherent to the fact that he was a mage, perhaps she still partially doubted the fact that he was the Herald. Perhaps there was something there. Leveraging the title to try and earn the Chantry’s support. It would certainly explain why he had such a distaste for the name. 

Just a pawn in a game that he had no part in.

**Author's Note:**

> AN | Have a few things planned. Mostly written for shits and giggles. The Adaar character is not the inquisitor, but an oc.


End file.
